


Broken: Drabbly Things

by NephthysMoon



Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephthysMoon/pseuds/NephthysMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles, some connected, some not, most featuring Usagi/Mamoru, across all verses. Beware, for here there may be angst, adult themes, alternate universe, and sap (sometimes).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 091 Only Human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [profoundlycan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundlycan/gifts).



> So, my best friend, profoundlycan, and I were marveling over the fact that there are some writers who can complete 500 drabbles in a single fandom - we've struggled to complete much simpler challenges. I'm a little on the prolific side, but my fandom interests are so varied that I sometimes have a hard time focusing on any one fandom for any period of time, let alone long enough to complete a challenge like this. So, we decided to create a prompt table for ourselves and challenge ourselves to actually complete it by the end of 2013. Our rules are pretty simple. We must actually write 100 individual drabbles, though they can be mini-series like if some of the prompts go together. They cannot be longer than 1000 words (I can get really wordy, as this note is proving). If anyone is actually interested in seeing the prompt table, I can provide a link. It did not have to be all the same pairing, but I'm going to try to make all of these Usagi/Mamoru, and I'll try to make them not so trite as this first one. It's been a long time since my Sailormoon muse spoke to me. The title is 'Broken' simply because for much of the time these two are together, things are - well, broken between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 091\. Only Human  
> Only Human  
> Words: 387

He told himself that it was stupid. Hell, he told himself that it was illegal. She was fourteen. Just thinking some of the things he thought about her could get him in trouble with some people if anyone in his vicinity could suddenly develop telepathy when she was around – people like Makoto, for example, who jealously guarded the girl with a fierceness that belied the femininity she desperately tried to bury under her tough-as-nails exterior. It would certainly get him killed by her father, who was rumoured to keep a shotgun nearby at all times just for such things – things like keeping the innocence of his daughter sacred.

He told himself all of this, every day when she walked in, impossibly long legs and beautiful smile beaming (a smile he couldn't help notice falling the moment she spotted him). He couldn't seem to help himself, though. He saw her; he wanted her. He wanted to breathe in the fragrance that only she seemed to possess, that special blend of jasmine and orange blossoms and sunshine itself that he was lucky enough to have savoured on a few rare occasions and had tried, unsuccessfully to find in bottled form, describing it to every perfume counter in the city like a madman. He wanted to see her lips drift into that soft smile she reserved for his alter-ego, Tuxedo Kamen, whenever the blighter's name was mentioned – he was so far gone he was even jealous of his own secret identity! He wanted to be close enough to see the little drops of chocolate milkshake that sometimes clung to her lips, and the way her tiny pink tongue would dart out to chase them, drawing their sticky sweetness into the deep recesses of her mouth, and he wanted to follow it with his own. He saw her – and he wanted.

She walked in, sunny smile in place, calling cheerfully to her friends in their favourite booth before asking Motoki for a shake. She noticed him in the barstool next to where she stood at the counter, and she stiffened, her smile dropping to a grimace, and he smelled it, her fragrance, and he had to shift in his chair, grateful for her innocence, her ignorance that he always teased her about.

He saw her; he wanted. He was only human.


	2. 080 Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 080\. Breathe  
> Shattered  
> Words: 407

Falling, shattered. That's how she felt, every time she looked at him. Like she couldn't even draw a breath. It was there in the way he'd accidentally got drawn into one of their conversations about which Senshi's powers were stronger, which one was better. Each girl, naturally, had defended her own alter-ego, and demanded he take their side. Usagi had stopped her defence of Sailor Moon the instant he'd walked up, terrified of what he'd say about her counterpart, unable to bear it if he criticised her as harshly as the others always did.

 _And why wouldn't he_ , she groaned inwardly.  _She really was the worst_.

"Yes, Mamoru-san, tell us which of the Sailor Senshi you think is the most powerful!" Rei had demanded in her flirtatious way, after listing off all of Sailor Mars' many attributes. The others merely rolled their eyes.

"Sailor Moon," he said simply. "I can't believe any of you are arguing for any of the others. All they do is fire attacks to distract the monsters while she delivers the blow that actually destroys it. Have any of you actually even witnessed a youma battle before? Sailor Moon is the strongest, bravest girl I've ever seen, hands down."

After dropping his little bombshell, he'd walked away, leaving them all stunned. Rei had immediately launched into a tirade about how obviously he knew nothing about how many times they had to save her sorry but from getting fried and how if she were better, they wouldn't have to fire so many of their 'puny' attacks to give her time to destroy the youma. It had taken Ami a good ten minutes to calm her down. The others were still staring at the back of the man who had delivered his speech so passionately.

"Wow, Usagi-chan," Makoto said softly, as Rei walked out the door fuming. "I had no idea he admired you so strongly."

"He doesn't admire me," Usagi said miserably. "He admires Sailor Moon." She grabbed her schoolbag and left the arcade, going home to her room, where she could stare in the mirror and try to see 'the strongest, bravest girl' Mamoru knew. All she saw was the clumsy, awkward Odango Atama from the arcade that he couldn't stand. Her eyes blurred, and the two sides of herself merged in the mirror for a brief second, but she still couldn't breathe. This was one thing that even Sailor Moon couldn't fix.


	3. 021 Naked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 021\. Naked  
> Naked  
> Words: 638

His psychology teacher had once told him that if you really wanted to know someone, you had to see them naked. There were a million ways he'd imagined seeing Tsukino Usagi naked, of getting to know her better than anyone else did, but when he finally did, he realized he'd completely misunderstood those words.

Naked wasn't about skin. It was freezing cold outside and she was bundled from head to toe the day he saw Usagi naked. The only skin she had showing was on her face. He'd noticed how she would flinch when he'd reference Sailor Moon in front of her; he thought it was funny that she'd idolise the teen hero when they really were so much alike that it hurt him sometimes. Besides, it was their thing to tease each other, to see who could get in the best shot – and he'd won that day. Or lost, depending on your perspective, he supposed.

She'd stiffened immediately after he told her she had absolutely nothing in common with Tokyo's beloved heroine, and she had a better chance of flying to the Moon than aspiring to be like her. He thought the reaction had been rage, but when she'd turned, he'd seen a glimmer of something in those blue eyes he practically worshipped that he'd never seen before: anguish. And then she'd run.

How she'd run, too! He'd had to use some of his extra power to keep up with her, and when she'd finally collapsed near the base of a tree, he could see that he hadn't just gotten in a good shot that time, he'd hit far below the belt. She was crying; not her usual loud wails, but true, bone-deep sobs that seemed to come from her soul itself. He knelt down beside her.

"Usagi?" he asked, dropping all honorifics in his concern for her.

"Go away!" she shrieked. He'd never heard her voice sound like that before. She had told him she'd hated him with less vitriol than that.

"Usagi, I'm so sorry," he said, not touching her, but still kneeling beside her, bowing his head to his knees to show her how deep his remorse was.

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for," she spat, her contempt evident in every syllable.

He recoiled from it. How could this even be the same Usagi he'd known for all these months.

"How could you?" she continued in the same tone, not looking at him, but staring blinding, tears still coursing down her cheeks. "How could you know what it feels like to be inferior to everyone else, and to have that inferiority rubbed into your face every. Single. DAY!?" Her voice rose as she continued.

Mamoru suddenly thought back on everything he always said to her, all the things he teased her about, and remembered being the poor orphan child, with no home, no memories and his heart clenched in his chest.

"I might surprise you," he said with a dry, bitter laugh. She did turn to him then, a look of scorn on her face.

"I doubt it."

So he told her. In short, concise sentences, in the fewest words possible.

And he learned that naked, Usagi was truly beautiful. Because even though she had a deep well of horrors inside herself that he would never have guessed she carried beneath the perpetually sunny exterior, she had the most compassionate heart beating inside her chest. She reached out, pulled him towards her, and crushed him into a hug that felt at once warm and welcoming and forgiving. And he knew that tomorrow, this moment would be over, and he should savour it. Tomorrow they would go back to their normal behaviour. Because only for today would he permit her to see him as naked as she was permitting him to see her.


	4. 001 Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 001\. Taste  
> Milkshake  
> Words: 440

"Just a little one?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Don't you have anyone else to bother?"

"C'mon, I'll never call you Odango ever again," he swore, laughing down at her.

"As tempting as that is, I still could get your germs."

"What germs? I'm very healthy, I promise!"

"HA!" she spat, looking up at him.

The milkshake was clutched protectively to her chest. It was the last one Motoki would be making for a long, long time. He was leaving the arcade to spend a year with Reika in Africa, and everyone was celebrating his going away at the annual Christmas party at the arcade. Mamoru was looking down at the milkshake with undisguised longing and she grabbed it tighter.

"It's tradition," he whispered, looking at her with something like desperation in his face now. "And you're making us both look very, very foolish right now."

Those bright blue eyes looked at him in confusion.

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy, Usagi-chan, just kiss him already and get it over with!" Minako shouted and pointed above their heads. Usagi looked up and saw now that Mamoru hadn't been trying to take her milkshake – they'd gotten caught under the mistletoe, and everyone had frozen in some kind of sick fascination to see how it would play out.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, "but you so owe me for this, baka!"

He leaned down and rolled his eyes. "Shut your eyes, Usagi-chan, or it's not going to count and they'll make you do it again," he warned.

She closed her eyes tightly as a child hiding from a horror film. He stifled a laugh and leaned down to place a light kiss on her nose.

There were loud boos from the entire party. He sighed and dropped another kiss on her lips, sticky with gloss and chocolate. He pulled back. "Is everyone happy now?" he demanded.

"No!" Usagi shouted, while around her the crowd cheered. They both rolled their eyes at the ridiculous behaviour of their friends.

"You were right to guard that milkshake so fiercely," he said, licking his lips. "It's very good."

She focused on his lips, watching as his tongue lapped the last of the chocolate and the berry flavoured gloss she wore off. She offered the tall glass to him wordlessly, and he happily took a big sip.

"Not worried about germs anymore?" he teased.

"I figure I just got my booster shot," she said, batting her lashes and walking away, swatting Minako in the arm and whispering heatedly at the other blonde when she reached her. He couldn't help it; his face broke into a grin.


	5. 039 Ripple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 039\. Ripple  
> Not-So-Mistaken Identities  
> Words: 595

There it was again. He was sure the curtains in his room were moving, but he knew he'd closed the window before he went to sleep. He pulled out a rose, a diamond-hard point ready to impale whoever was hiding behind the sheers the instant he got close enough.

He shifted slightly, as though rolling in his sleep, waiting for the person to move again, to be sure there was actually someone there, that his sleep-fogged brain hadn't been fooling him, but the moon chose that moment to come from behind the clouds and grant him a clear view of the perfect silhouette of the figure hiding in his bedroom.

Short, definitely female, and an unmistakable hairstyle, surrounded by the same haze that haunted his dreams every night. "Princess," he breathed. The rose fell to the floor, unheeded, but as it did, he realized there was something wrong.

The outline wasn't quite right. It was the skirt, he realized a moment too late. It was short, hitting just below her hips, leaving her legs bare. It wasn't the billowing ballgown the princess in his dreams usually wore. And when she turned slightly in the moonlight, he could see a streamer of ribbon falling from behind her, and the vague outline of a bow. Not the Princess, then, but Sailor Moon.

And he'd dropped his rose.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, dropping all pretense and sitting up.

"I followed you after the battle," she admitted. "I smelled the roses and I just – followed. I don't know why. The girls would be furious if they knew." She laughed then, and something in the laugh was familiar; he wanted to place it, could almost see the face that it went with, but it slipped away like his dreams always did.

"That still doesn't explain why you climbed in my window," he replied tersely. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be looking for those crystals?" he asked shortly, grateful that his bed wasn't bathed in moonlight, that she couldn't possibly know who he was.

"The crystals?" she asked, her voice innocent. "No. I really wasn't looking for them."

Again that nagging familiarity, that sense that he knew this voice. Why was it only now, in the darkness, behind the curtain, that she seemed so familiar?

"Then why?" he asked again.

Her voice lowered, and she hung her head. The posture was so familiar that he suddenly sat up straighter. Why hadn't he seen it before? "I just wanted to know who you were," she finally admitted. "To know why you always save me."

"You haven't figured it out yet?" he asked, his voice taking on a tone he used only with one person, a haughty, teasing tone that would surely, surely tell her who he was – if he was right. And he was positive, now that he was. The hair, the laughter, the pose of extreme dejection; his mind began to add up other similarities in rapid calculations and wonder why he hadn't made the connection before.

"No," she whispered. "But, if you'll show me yours, I'll show you mine," she offered.

"Tempting," he said, biting back laughter at the innocence in the phrasing. He was definitely right. "But you've already given yourself away."

"Well, then you have to tell me!" she said, her voice rising.

"Oi, lower the decibels, Odango!" he said, not thinking of identities, just enjoying their usual banter.

She came out from behind the curtain then, stepping fully into the moonlight, and pulled him out of his bed by his arm. "Mamoru-baka!?" she shrieked.


	6. 088 Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 088\. Black  
> Black  
> Words: 176

His armour. His roses. His eyes. His soul.

This wasn't her Endymion. This wasn't even Mamoru. This was some evil creature created by Metalia. Looking down at him as he had his hands around her throat, holding her off the ground, choking the life out of her, she knew that the person she had grown to love in this life was as dead as the Prince she'd loved in the last one. All that remained was this demon servant of the Great Evil.

This embodiment of her most hated colour of them all: black.

He dropped her, threw her, kicked her, and prepared to cut her down with the same sword she now knew she'd taken her own life with in the past life. For a moment, she allowed herself a moment of wry amusement at that. A tinkle from her chest reminded her of the locket and she took it out.

If she was going to die at the hands of this  _creature_  that Metalia created, at least she could try to save him, too.

 


	7. 023 Myth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 023\. Myth  
> Roses on the Moon  
> Words: 457

"Wait, Odango actually did her homework for a change?" Mamoru asked, staring at Motoki as though the world had finally come to a stop.

"Yeah, and then she left it here yesterday. She spent most of the afternoon working on it. I think she's going to be really upset. I guess they were studying ancient legends or something and had to make up something – I remember Ami-chan telling me something about it a week or so ago," he said.

"That grin says you think Odango's is – unique," Mamoru said, an evil smile crossing his face. Anything to tease his favourite enemy.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Motoki answered with a laugh. "Though it's pretty creative. I think the subject matter, on the other hand, might interest you more than anything else."

He dropped the paper in front of Mamoru and left to clean out the storage room.

_The Mythology of the Rose  
By Tsukino Usagi_

_Some romances are fated to failure. But it is because of one of those failures that we have the most beautiful flower to exist: the rose. A long time ago, there was a Princess who lived on the Moon who fell in love with a Prince who lived on the Earth. But they were not fated to be together. The Prince wanted to give his lover something so special that she would never forget him, so he travelled to the land of dreams to find something more beautiful than anything that could be found in either of their lands. There, the guardian of dreams told him that he would give him two rose bushes, one for his window and one for hers, and as long as their love remained, the roses would continue to grow and bloom. He took the plants and planted them where the guardian told him to, but he and his lover were parted and the roses continued to grow, so he knew that she still loved him. Even now, if you know where to look, you can find roses growing on the moon._

Mamoru looked up at Motoki, startled. "Gives your tattoo a whole new meaning, doesn't it?" the other man said, laughing as Mamoru clutched his right arm oddly. As far as he was aware, only he and Motoki knew that he had a tattoo of a crescent moon with a climbing rose there. She couldn't possibly…could she?

"Did you tell her?" he asked.

"No, to be honest, I don't think she knows, I think she just made it up out of her head. She's always done it – made up stories I mean," Motoki said, humming a little as he wiped the counter. "It's just odd – 'roses growing on the moon'," he quoted.

"Odd," Mamoru agreed.


	8. 071 Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 071\. Time  
> A Simple Wish  
> Words: 376

A lost year. Sometimes she cried when on her birthday, and she couldn't answer her parents when they asked why. How could she explain that while they were celebrating her fifteenth birthday, she was really turning sixteen? That she was repeating the ninth grade, not because she'd failed it, but because she'd made a wish? All she'd wanted was for everyone to lead a normal life, free of the influences of the past. So the whole world forgot the year that the Dark Kingdom had attacked and tried to take over – except her. Luna and Artemis still remembered, of course, and without her powers, Minako had no use for a talking white cat, so the feline had moved in with her, as well.

The three had stood ready to repel whatever forces had come, but after that, there were none. Tsukino Usagi never had to become Sailor Moon again. Without the bond of the Sailor Senshi, the five girls with vastly different backgrounds never again became friends. Kino Makoto never moved to Juuban, in fact. Hino Rei had no need to befriend the frequent visitor to her grandfather's shrine, though Usagi tried to talk to her on several occasions. Now that they were no longer fellow Senshi, Mizuno Ami could not be coaxed out of her books to make friends, and Aino Minako got a recording contract in London and became a pop idol.

Usagi was alone. She knew that there were some remnants of memories left in her friends, though. She could still see Rei reading the Sacred Fire from time to time, and Ami smiled at her regretfully when she declined her invitations to join her for shakes at Crown. And Mamoru – but Usagi couldn't think about Mamoru for too long. She'd wanted to believe that given enough time, the fated romance, free of the influence of Serenity and Endymion, would still come to pass, but it had been almost ten years, and it had not. Mamoru had gone to America to study medicine, and he had not returned.

To the world, Tsukino Usagi was twenty-three, nearly twenty-four, though she knew herself to be a year older than that, and she was still waiting on a man who would never exist except in memories.


	9. 065 Deliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 065\. Deliver  
> Deliver Me  
> Words: far too many, I broke the rules, but it wouldn't stop!

As a resident on the night shift, Amazon Prime had been a godsend for him. Whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, delivered to his doorstep in two business days. The little sticky note on his door, usually left while he was sleeping or out at the arcade grabbing a cup of coffee in the few hours in the afternoon before his shifts always let him know that the package was at the front desk of his apartment tower, and he would usually swing by the next morning on his way upstairs, juggling the box and his keys, half-dead-on-his-feet, dropping it on the sofa as he staggered to his shower before dropping off into oblivion.

He'd never met his driver, didn't even know the man (or woman) who unfailingly brought him those essentials, and, quite frankly, had never given that person a second thought.

Then, when he'd finished his residency and decided that it was time to purchase a house – nothing large or fancy, just a house, since he had to move to a new district anyway, he suddenly realized how much  _stuff_  he needed. One day of shopping for furniture – Motoki's wife, Makoto had assured him that the worn furniture he'd owned since his high school days was completely unacceptable – was enough to remind him why he did all of his shopping online. He'd asked Mako-chan to make him a list of every single item she could think of that he'd need for the house, including any 'decorative' items, and he agreed to order them online over the next few months, allowing her to decorate his home for him. She agreed to his compromise, having seen how pale and uncomfortable he'd become in the giant furniture warehouse.

And though he was exhausted after an exceptionally trying shift, he sat down at his computer and browsed for the first dozen items on Makoto's list, comparing quality scores on towels and dishes and hangars equally, pulling out a measuring tape and gauging the size of the 'area rug' he would need to cover the approximate space in his sitting room that she'd indicated. When he finally placed the order, he thanked the kami for his free two day shipping and fell into bed, reminding himself to get new sheets on the next order.

Two nights later, when he came home, the usual sticky note was on his door, the usual 'Sorry we missed you, but instead of the normal message of where he could find his packages, there was another box checked, one that told him another attempt would be made to deliver his packages, between five and eight tomorrow evening. In the lines for the driver to leave a note, his driver had left a drawing – was that meant to be a bunny smiling at him?

Mamoru was confused, and so he did what he always did, and called Motoki. "'Toki, my UPS driver is nuts," he said without preamble.

"Hello to you, too," his friend replied with a laugh.

"I'm serious," he said. "The man drew a picture on my delivery notice, and didn't give my packages to anyone! He just ticked off some box saying he'd come back tomorrow!"

"Yeah, see – that's how it works in the real world, Mamoru, without desk clerks and doormen," Motoki said with a guffaw. "In the real world, packages are delivered when you're at home, and if they can leave them at your door, they will – but if they can't, you either arrange to go pick them up, or you stay home and hope to all the kami that you hear the doorbell. Welcome to real life!"

Motoki hung up. Mamoru stared at his phone, annoyed, both with Motoki and his UPS man. He felt a certain nostalgia for his old UPS man – always reliable, delivering the packages directly to the front desk, where he could pick them up the next day. It was lucky he had the following day off, so he could do nothing with it but sit and wait – he'd sold his old sports car and hadn't yet bought a new one – was still deciding on a model, and at any rate, an area rug, he was sure, wouldn't have fit in the back of it.

Home ownership was definitely not what he'd imagined it to be.

The next day, he slept in, after a long night shift, and when he woke, he enjoyed a leisurely lunch, with a large pot of coffee. The afternoon was cool, and he settled in with a medical journal he'd been meaning to read. He'd intended to spend the day getting to know his new neighbourhood, and possibly shop for a new car, but that was obviously out of the question, as who knew how long he'd be stuck at home, waiting for the UPS man to show up?

When 4:30 rolled around, he decided to move to the porch, where Makoto had sensibly talked him into installing a few lounge chairs. He set out a full pot of coffee, his favourite mug, and the book Makoto had loaned him when she and Motoki were visiting, some British classic he'd never read that was supposedly a satire of manners in the Regency period. He settled into the lounge closest to the door and began to read.

The language was a bit flowery for his taste, and while he could see the satire that she'd mentioned early on, it was clear that she'd neglected to mention that it was also a romance, and he cursed himself for not researching it before he started reading. However, Motoki's warnings about not hearing the doorbell ringing in his ears, he was loathe to get up and dig through the boxes he had yet to unpack and grab another – what if he missed the driver?

The story soon sucked him in, however, and it wasn't until a clear, sweet voice called up to him that he realised he wasn't alone. "Chiba-san?"

He jumped up, putting the book face down so as not to lose his page, and looked down to the sidewalk, where a petite blonde dressed in UPS brown stood holding a cardboard box in both hands, her truck idling in the street in front of his house.

"Uh – yes?" he said.

"I have your packages," she said with a sweet smile. Her eyes were large, and bright blue, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. She lifted the box a bit higher, a gesture he realised must mean she wanted him to take it, and he clumsily rushed down the stairs towards her, fumbling for the corners of the box so he could relieve her of the burden.

"I'll just – uh – I'll just take this inside," he muttered.

She grinned at him, then, and a small laugh escaped her slightly glossy pink lips. "I'll get the others and be right back." She winked at him and spun around, the bright blonde hair under her cap flashing in the sun overhead as he stood there, holding a box that had to be far, far too heavy for such a tiny girl – she barely came to his shoulder! – as she bounced away towards her truck. He watched as she climbed effortlessly into the back of the truck, disappearing from view, and he realised he was standing there like an idiot, holding a box, when clearly she was coming back with more, and he finally turned to carry it into the house.

When he came back, she had three smaller boxes balanced precariously on top of each other.

"Should I put these inside?" she asked. "Or would you rather take them – it's only, I'm afraid if I try to hand them off, they might slip."

"No – no, it's fine, go ahead," he said, and led the way to the front door, opening it and leading her into his home, showing her where he'd put the larger of the boxes, and gesturing that she could put the three she was carrying on top of it. She looked around briefly, and frowned for a moment, but shook her head and said nothing, turning and heading back to her truck.

"Something wrong?" he asked when they were back on the porch.

"Nothing, I – it's nothing, I shouldn't say anything," she said, laughing, one corner of her mouth turning up in a half- smile.

"No, what it is?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It's just – you ordered that big rug, right," she said, taking a deep breath, "and it doesn't match the furniture."

He stared at her, not sure whether he should be offended or not. If she was right, Makoto would kill him. And then she would drag him to another store. A store with rugs. And she would make him buy a rug from a store. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Are you sure?" he asked, frowning at the thought of shopping, at a store – a store with rugs.

"Well, it's rolled up, and covered in plastic, but I can tell it has a lot of red in it, and I thought that the colors would look really, really fantastic in a house with a lot of dark colours. But you've got a more jewel-toned theme going on in there. Unless there's a lot of emeralds and sapphires and purples in with those reds, that rug is going to clash horribly," she said, and suddenly stopped, probably realising he had no clue what she meant. "Girlfriend designed it for you?" she said, laughing.

"My best friend's wife," he admitted. "And if it doesn't match, she's going to make me go rug shopping. In a store," he added.

"Chiba-san," she said, grinning up at him in the shade of his porch. "I'm going to do us both a favour. You're going to refuse delivery of that rug. You're going to give me your email address, and I'll find a rug that will go with your color scheme on Amazon and send you a link. You can find the dimensions you're looking for that way. It's a little outside my job description, but it sure beats lugging that monstrosity all the way up to your door, and then having to come pick it up in a few days when your best friend's wife rejects it, and then she makes you go rug shopping – at a store."

He could have kissed her. Hell, he wanted to kiss her. Instead, he ran inside, knowing she had to be on a schedule, grabbed his business card, and wrote his email address on the back, thanking her profusely as he signed for his deliveries.

That night, he received an email, from bunnysmileTU, with a link to a rug that she claimed would be perfect for his sitting room. What really surprised him, though, was the request at the end of the email. She asked him what else he still needed, and if there was any way she could prevent him from buying anything else that would cause his friend's wife to make him shop for things in stores, since he obviously hated that – and she gave him her name – Usagi.

Over the next few weeks, they exchanged several emails, with her suggesting things for his new house that would 'fit his colour scheme' which was apparently 'delicious', and he would always arrange for those deliveries on his off days, so he would be home when they were delivered. They would make small talk for a few minutes while she delivered his packages, and she'd drive off in her big brown truck. Their emails became more personal as the weeks went on; he told her about Motoki and Makoto, and she told him about studying poly sci at Tokyo University. He told her about long nights at the hospital and living alone during med school and rooming with Motoki during college, and she told him about her insane family and driving a UPS truck and living with her four best friends, Naru, Ami, Rei, and Minako. He thought they sounded like the kind of girls Makoto would love.

It was that thought that inspired him (perhaps prompted by Motoki's constant harassment to meet the girl he seemed so smitten with) to have a dinner party. He invited Usa (when they'd progressed to nicknames, he couldn't exactly remember, but it had been established some time ago) and her roommates for an evening, and a few of his friends from uni, as well as Motoki and his wife. He was a fairly accomplished cook, but Mako-chan was a first class chef, so she'd agreed to cook for them all.

Motoki and Makoto had taken the train over early in the day, and Makoto was inspecting every nook and cranny of his house critically.

"Wow, Mamoru," she finally said. "Honestly, I expected to have to sit you down, and tell you very, very gently that it was all going to have to go back, and drag you, kicking and screaming, to the shops. I had no idea you had such an eye for colour." She looked around the sitting room once again, pleased. "You've pulled the entire room together so well from just the few pieces we got and the accent pillows I picked out. The artwork is really nice and that rug is utterly superb. I can't believe you found all of this on Amazon!"

Mamoru nearly choked on his wine. Looking around the room, he could see Usa's influence everywhere. At her urging, he'd branched out with his shopping. Speciality boutiques that had online shopping with delivery had played a key part in decorating most of the rooms in his house. Quite a lot of it was still from his beloved Amazon, but some of the pieces he knew Makoto was eyeing with particular appreciation were things that Usagi had picked from her vast knowledge of interior design.

He looked at Motoki for help. "Oh, Mamoru has hidden depths," his best friend said with a smirk.

"I can see that," his wife replied. "It's very impressive. Well done."

She continued to prattle on when she reached the kitchen. When Usa had learned about Makoto, she'd referred him to a specialty site that catered to chefs, and the kitchen was fully stocked with everything the woman would need to cook a five-star meal, and she was in heaven. "I can't believe you even have this!" became her mantra as she puttered about in the room, prepping some sort of masala-based recipe that she'd found online and hadn't yet tried.

When Makoto plugged her iPhone into the dock and put on her 'cooking' playlist, effectively shutting herself off from the world, Motoki took his chance to pounce. "So, your defective UPS driver turned out to be more than you bargained for after all."

"Usa's not defective, 'Toki," he growled. It wasn't the first time Motoki had made a reference to the first conversation they'd had about the girl, and it probably wouldn't be the last. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything mean to her when she's here. She's got a big heart, and she'd take it personally. Usa's – not like other girls."

"And you're subjecting her to the fearsome foursome why?" Motoki asked, suddenly serious.

"Next to you and Mako-chan, they're the closest thing I have to family. She's bringing her roommates, probably because no intelligent woman goes to a strange man's house alone, no matter how many emails they've exchanged or how many deliveries she's made to his house. I figure – the boys will help lighten the atmosphere." He shrugged.

"Kunzite, lighten the atmosphere?" Motoki laughed. "The man runs your father's company. He's the CEO of a multi-national corporation with ice-water in his veins and dollar signs in his eyes. He's not going to approve of a student who drives a UPS truck. Jadeite might – he's still a student himself, living on Daddy's money, even if Daddy is off – hell, where is his dad now? Australia? – getting drunk with the wife of the month. Nephrite is – questionable. He had his frat days in college, which wasn't all that long ago for him – maybe two years? But he's settled into the accounting department at the firm now, and with his dad as CFO, you can bet if Kunzite doesn't approve, Nephrite won't. And Zoicite…well, Zoi will probably do whatever you tell him to do, because he loves you as much as I do. What the hell does his dad do for the firm, anyway?"

"Zoi's dad is legal," Mamoru answered, rolling his eyes. "And Zoi is finishing up his last year at TU, just like Jade. Neph just finished. Kunz finished three years ago, and took over so I wouldn't have to and so we could get his shady dad off the board, because one of us had to run the company – our fathers owned seventy-five, and I sure wasn't going to do it."

"Seriously, man, all those years of not knowing who you were, and then you turn eighteen and find out you own over half the hospitals in Japan," Motoki said, shaking his head.

"And I work at one of the ones I don't own," Mamoru reminded him.

The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation, and Mamoru crossed the room to answer it.

Jadeite fell through dramatically. "If you ever make me ride in a car with those three again, I swear I will kill you," he dropped to the floor, landing on his face and moaned theatrically.

Nephrite stepped over him, clapping Mamoru on the back. "Though I won't engage in the childish dramatics, I share the sentiments. It's good to see you, but I'm not sure how we're going to survive the drive home."

Zoisite came through next, stepping on Jadeite's calves on his way in, ignoring the other man's protests, and smiled at Mamoru and Motoki in turn, "It's been too long. I'm going to kill them all. Especially Kunzite. If I hear one more 'fuck' tonight, I'm going to fucking kill him."

Kunzite came through the door last, iPhone strapped to his ear, shouting at someone on the other end, and stumbled over the prone Jadeite, falling to his knees on the wood floors. "FUCK! GODDAMMIT JADEITE WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING DOING!"

"That's it, he's dead. Someone help me hide the body," Zoisite said cheerfully from the sofa.

"I'm in," Jadeite grumbled from the floor, where he was trying to disentangle his legs from Kunzite's.

Mamoru reached across the both of them, plucked Kunzite's phone from his hand, and put it to his own ear. "I'm sorry, this is Chiba Mamoru, of Chibahiko Health. Akihiko-san will be unavailable until Monday morning. Please accept my most sincere apologies. His assistant, Ryuu, is more than capable of handling this emergency, and should be contacted immediately." He paused, giving the other man time to answer. As he suspected, it was nothing urgent, something Kunzite should have passed off to Ryuu in the first place. It was why they hired him in the first place. "Thank you so much for your understanding, sir. Good-bye."

He looked at Kunzite, daring him to say something. Kunzite's face turned red, but he didn't speak. When he looked away, Mamoru looked at the room at large. "Cell phones off – all of you, now. I don't care who you're expecting to call you. I'm collecting them all and locking them in my room. When Usa and her friends get here, I'll lock mine up, too. I invited you guys up here because we're spending the fucking weekend together. Not so you could spend the entire weekend shouting at your phones. You want to shout? Shout at each other."

And that was how he ended up in his room, hiding and silencing his friends phones when Usa and her roommates showed up, leaving Jadeite in charge of introductions, since he was closest to the door – having just gotten up from the floor.

"Oh, you must be Usa!" he said, turning to the stunning woman with the long, dark hair. "I have only one rule while you're in Mamoru's house. No honorifics! I'm Jade. That's Kunz, Neph, 'Toki, Zoi, and Mako's in the kitchen, I think. Mamoru's upstairs, locking up our phones because Kunz is a dick, but – whatever. So, in the spirit of things, introduce yourself by whatever your absolute closest friends call you, because for the rest of the night, we are all the dearest of friends!"

The raven-haired woman looked like she was going to shoot him later. He was looking forward to it. But at least the girl with the sunny smile looked like she was in the spirit of things. That helped!

"Well, in that case, I'm Usa, not her – she's Rei. Beautiful blue hair over there is Ami. The stunning red-head is Naru. Tall, blonde and gorgeous is Minako. And even though Mamoru said it was a dinner party – well, we're college students. We brought a few games, including a personal favourite, Twister, and some boring old board games."

"And, Usa's gonna kill me, but I brought a big ol' jug of punch," added tall, blonde and gorgeous Minako.

Mamoru walked in just in time to catch the last bit of that sentence and realised he might have inadvertently agreed to host a dinner party/kegger. Well, he had the next three days off, and he hadn't really partied even in college. Besides, Kunzite could really stand to loosen up a bit.

Makoto came out of the kitchen, probably to investigate the noise and shrieked in surprise.

"Tsukino Usagi!"

"Kino Makoto!"

The two girls rushed each other, and Mako-chan's much larger frame seemed to engulf the other girl as they embraced. Clearly, this was an old friendship.

"Mako-chan, I didn't know you knew Mamoru," Usa said, cocking her head to the side.

Makoto turned to Mamoru and smirked, looking around the house again. "Mamoru, would you like to clarify exactly how you came to have such good taste?" she asked, her grin getting wider. "Ugh, I should have known! I thought I recognized some of those pieces! This place has your signature touch all over it, Usagi! The jewel-tones were something you showed me ages ago, but they weren't really me, so I figured I'd see if they worked for Mamoru, and then you completely pulled it off – god, look at this place! You did a fantastic job! And don't you have that same painting?" She pointed to a smaller piece that Mamoru was particularly fond of, hanging above the sofa – it was a bit abstract maybe, but gave the impression of a cliff next to a windswept sea at night.

"Yep, it's my favourite. It's gorgeous," Usa agreed. "It's hanging in my bedroom over my bed."

"Time out," Motoki said. "Mamoru's Usa is your friend Usagi from Jubaan?"

Both girls nodded. "Also, dinner's ready. And, I see you brought all the girls – I've missed you all so much since you moved out here! I should never have gotten married!"

"Sorry," Usa said to the others, "We're being horribly rude." She grinned at the boys who were sitting around the room.

"I'll say," Kunzite grumbled, and Mamoru glared at him, while Nephrite just looked amused.

"Well, then, boys, let's feast, and then I'm pretty sure I heard my old friend Mina-chan say something about punch and Twister. You stuffed shirts need to lighten up!" Makoto said with a grin.

Motoki turned pale, remembering too many parties spent with Makoto's friends at their dorm their first year of college, and taking in a quick glance at the girls' outfits. Surprisingly, even the usually flirtatious Minako was wearing pants – low-rise jeans, but pants, at least. Maybe this wouldn't be so horrible.

Dinner was lively, though it had its awkward moments, where the conversation fell flat. Mamoru's table wasn't large enough to seat so many, and while Mamoru had insisted that the girls take the large L-shaped sofa in his living room, the boys had jokingly fought over the remaining chairs and loungers, leaving a few poor souls (namely Jadeite, Kunzite, and Motoki) to try to eat awkwardly on the floor. When dinner had been cleaned up and the dishwasher started, Makoto had found a large punch bowl, emptied the ice tray into it, and poured Minako's three gallon jugs of her special punch (a rather grand name for what boiled down to fruit drink and 190 proof grain alcohol)* into it. The crystal bowl and ladle made the rather garish drink look quite sophisticated, and Mamoru wanted to laugh at the absurdity of serving a frat drink out of $60 wine glasses, but he refrained. There was a lesson here, he was sure of it, but for now, he was planning to enjoy himself. **

After everyone helped themselves to a serving or two of the sweet mixture, Usa popped her iPhone into the dock on his stereo and put in an eclectic playlist of everything from 90s hits to current rock to obscure bands he wasn't sure he'd ever heard of. The music wasn't any particular genre, nor did it have any specific feel to it, but it was one of those playlists that definitely gave you a feel for the person that created it. As the liquor started loosening people up, it was the timid Ami that suggested they bring out the games, and Naru, who had been in quiet conversation with Nephrite, suggested Harry Potter Clue, as it turned out they were all fans. The game was limited to a certain number of players, so teams were chosen.

The game was abandoned quickly, as it was the most complicated game of Clue he'd ever seen, and even with Usa explaining the rules before the game, and continuing to explain as the game progressed, their alcohol-laden brains weren't absorbing them. Kunzite suggested Risk next, but he was quickly voted down – if they couldn't manage Clue, everyone argued, they wouldn't be able to handle Risk.

It was Makoto who brought out the Twister mat. By then, the punch bowl was nearly half empty, and they all thought it was an excellent idea. To keep things from getting too complicated, they agreed to start with six people, and the first six to spin a red circle were allowed to start. They would then be allowed to join in as others were eliminated until one person was the Twister Champion. That person would be able to pick the movie they'd watch after the tournament. In the back of his mind, Mamoru recognised that the likelihood of any of them being awake long enough to watch a movie after this was highly unlikely, but he didn't comment. He could already imagine the hangover they were all going to have in the morning, and while everyone was spinning to determine who got first spot on the mat, he subtly grabbed Kunzite's car keys from the side table and spent a few, frantic moment looking for Usa's before remembering that she and her roommates had come on the train and the last one had already run for the night.

He had limited bedroom space for guests, but he was sure he could put them all up for one night – there was no way he was letting anyone drive home in this condition.

When he returned, Makoto, Kunzite, Jadeite, Rei, Nephrite and Naru were standing around the mat, and Makoto had clearly won the battle for first spin. With a grin on her face and her teeth slightly stained red from the punch, she called out triumphantly, "Right hand red!" and then made a mad dash to shove her right hand on a red dot. Mamoru laughed and joined the rest of the party on the sofa to watch the shenanigans.

Rei was next with a much softer, "Left foot yellow." And her placement was more coordinated and graceful. If he thought about it, he seemed to recall her having only two or three glasses of punch compared to everyone else's five to six. Clearly, she was more – measured than her roommates. Jadeite's exuberant, "Right foot red!" led to his sock-clad foot skidding half-way across the mat in his haste to make it to the proper spot – apparently his red dot needed to be as close to Rei's yellow dot as humanly possible, even though there were four other dots (since Makoto was using one) that would have done perfectly well. He grinned up at her like an overgrown puppy and she smiled over at him gently. Interesting.

The game continued, and as the spins got further along, the game got more complicated. By placing himself so near to Rei, it was only natural that Jadeite should entangle himself around her, which he was obviously doing on purpose. Mamoru stopped paying attention to the game after a few minutes and started talking quietly to Usa, asking her about the house, how she thought it had all come together, what she thought he should change, things like that.

She gave him some pointers, and soon they were deep in conversation, the occasional shout of "Left hand blue!" interrupting them, or a loud laugh from one of the participants dragging their attention back to the game for a moment to see what was happening with their friends.

The ever-stoic Kunzite was the first to be disqualified, with an undignified shout of genuine laughter breaking his cool façade, causing everyone to stare at him for several moments, but his long legs had knocked out Makoto, as well, pulling both Motoki and Ami into the game. Kunzite sat down, red-faced and breathless next to Minako and started muttering at her, but Mamoru could see the hint of a smile lingering on his face, so he turned his attention back to Usa.

"So, I don't think you ever explained how you know Makoto," he said, truly curious. He'd only known the other girl for a few years, and he didn't recall her ever mentioning and Usagi before tonight.

"Oh, Mako-chan and I have known each other since Jubaan Middle School. She transferred into Jubaan back when we were fourteen, and we just – clicked. Seems like ages ago now, but I guess it's really only been about eight years," she said, pausing as though she needed to think about it. "Anyway, that's when we became friends with Ami, Rei, and Minako, too. Rei's a miko at the Hiwaka Shrine. Minako's from Japan originally, but she'd been living in England for something like ten years. And Ami was in my class, but she was really shy, and it took a lot to get her to come out of her shell. Anyway – it was really slow work, but we all just sort of came together, and started hanging out all the time, and when Ami decided to go to college, Rei and Minako and I went with her. Makoto was getting married, so she decided not to come with us. It's the first time we've separated in years."

"And you said Ami's pre-med, and Rei is religious studies, right?" he asked, trying to keep it straight.

"Yep," she agreed. "I'm poly sci, and Minako is – sort of undecided right now."

"What about Naru?" he asked, wondering where the other girl fit into their tight little group.

"Oh, Naru was there before any of them," Usa said with a grin. "Naru has been my best friend since we were little girls. Our mothers have known each other since before we were born. Naru's studying interior design, which is why I know so much – didn't I mention that? I find the subject fascinating, but – you know, I have to rule the world someday, so – poly sci it is!"

Mamoru started laughing, and the rest of the party suddenly fell silent.

"Oh, god, Usagi-chan, really?" Minako dropped to the Twister mat without even looking at what was on the spinner.

"Eight years, Usagi-chan," Ami said, with a hiccup, burying her face in her hands. "Eight years we've kept this up."

"I knew I shouldn't have let her drink so much punch," Rei muttered from where she was lying face-down on the floor, black hair spread around her.

"I'm gonna decorate the palace!" Naru piped up from the sofa, raising her hand excitedly, dropping back onto the cushions and giggling hysterically.

Mamoru looked at them all, one after the other, and wondered what sort of twilight zone he'd stepped into, because he was pretty sure he was still in his living room.

The problem was that no one else seemed to find anything weird about this. Not even the people he'd known best for the past eight years. Not Motoki, or Kunzite – Nephrite had his head in his hands. Jadeite was banging his head against the wall. Zoisite was examining his fingernails.

"You know, if no one had reacted to Usagi's statement, Mamoru would have passed it off as a drunken comment and forgotten all about it," Makoto piped up. "It's the reactions you're all having to her comment that are freaking him out."

Mamoru realised this was true. A poly sci major talking about taking over the world? He'd met plenty of those. In Usa, he'd probably have thought it was cute. He still kind of thought it was cute. Tiny little bubbly Usa ruling the world? That was an adorable thought. The fact that everyone in the room was taking her seriously – like she was actually destined to rule the world or something? That was seriously freaking him out.

"Does anyone in this room want to explain to me what the hell is going on?" he asked, as calmly as he could manage, given the circumstances.

"I have not had enough to drink for this," Kunzite muttered.

"There's more punch in the kitchen," Rei mumbled through her hair and the carpet.

"So, Usagi is the current incarnation of a long-dead princess whose destiny is to free the world from evil and rule the galaxy as queen," Jadeite said, still banging his head against the wall. "But an evil queen sort of – tried to take over eight years ago, and she got woken up too early. She came, she fought, she kicked ass. Giant ass memory wipe took place. Whole world forgot it ever happened. No big, life went on. Eventually, the people involved started to remember what happened. Except you. No one knew why. We figured if you were meant to remember, you would. If not, we'd never mention it to you."

"Except Princess over there turns out to be your UPS chick, and fucks it all up," Kunzite cut in. "And then gets drunk and starts talking about ruling the fucking world!"

Usagi started crying. "I'm sorry, guys. It was nice to have a Mamoru who didn't hate me – who didn't remember that he was supposed to hate me – and call me names – and pick on me. What does it matter that he doesn't remember all of it? Why does it matter if he knows I'm supposed to rule the world and he doesn't remember? He can know. He won't tell. He's my friend! He won't tell anyone! And I'll protect him like I did before! Remember! I saved him before – just because he doesn't remember doesn't mean it didn't happen!"

"Oh, god, someone get her a fucking drink before she starts blubbering I can't fucking take this shit," Kunzite muttered. "Nephrite, please, get Serenity a drink."

Nephrite ran into the kitchen, bumping into walls along the way, and walked back slowly carrying a bright glass of punch, handing it to the blubbering Usagi.

"Who the FUCK is Serenity?" Mamoru shouted, staring at the people he once considered friends.

Usagi raised her hand. "Princess Serenity," she said softly before taking a sip of her punch.

"All of you should just shut up. Can't we just get Luna to mind-meld him into forgetting this all happened?" Rei said from the floor. Jadeite was still banging his head on the wall. Mamoru was starting to think this was all some sort of bizarre nightmare. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa that Usagi had picked out, and he was having a nightmare.

He voiced the thought, and saw hopeful expressions cross too many faces. "I'm going to bed," he decided. "When I get up, we'll discuss this like rational, sober adults." He gave each of them a pointed glare before making his way to his bedroom.

He passed out, fully clothed, on his bed, and when he woke, the house was suspiciously silent. He crept warily down the stairs, to find the entire house was spotless. Every dish was cleaned, every decorative pillow Usa had picked out over the past few weeks was carefully arranged. Kunzite's car was missing from the driveway. His house was clean, silent, and empty.

A note on the polished ebony coffee table told him that they'd decided to give him time to absorb things. If he wanted to, he could call Kunzite for answers in a few days.

Three days later, the house was on the market, and Mamoru had taken an offer he'd been sitting on for months with a teaching hospital in Boston.

He would return to Japan someday, when he was ready to face them all again, but for now, he needed distance and time.


	10. 096 WC Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 096\. WC - Coffee  
> Die in a Fire  
> Words: 1071

“Black coffee.”

 

“Dark roast, breakfast blend, or house?”

 

“Dark roast.”

 

“Large?”

 

“God, yes.”

 

“Only two more hours.”

 

“Die in a fire.”

 

“And you have a good night, too!”

 

It was really sad that her daily exchange with him was the highlight of her job. She couldn’t help it. Something about the deep blue of his eyes, the strong lines of his face, the width of his shoulders -

 

“Oh, for god’s sake, you’re drooling again,” Mina, her fellow inmate in coffee shop hell said in disgust. “Honestly, Serena, just ask him out already! What’s the worst he could say?”

 

Serena looked at the blonde who had, on more than one occasion, been mistaken for her sister. “Oh, I don’t know - how about ‘die in a fire’, maybe?”

 

“Even HE can’t be that unpleasant,” Mina chirped.

 

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Serena muttered, shooting a glare at her perky coworker.

 

Every day, it was the exact same exchange, and every day, Serena stared at him, in his perfectly-fitted slacks, his crisp, button-down shirt, the fabulous hair - and wondered why guys like that never looked at girls like her. He probably had some Amazonian model of a girlfriend, with fantastic red hair (she’d always secretly wanted to be a redhead) that trailed in perfect waves to her waist and a bust that Serena would die for. The Amazon (if she existed) probably didn’t even know how he took his coffee, to absorbed in her own looks to bother with making sure her perfect boyfriend had a fresh pot brewed exactly on time for his breaks every day. Not like Serena. No, she knew that exactly 6:02, he would stroll into the tiny coffee shop, demanding his dark roast without a thing in it, drinking the bitter brew like his life depended on it as he sauntered out of her shop with that little sway to his hips that made his perfect, tight butt practically wink at her - she shook her head - or do something else that butts could actually do. She really, really needed to lay off the caffeine.

 

The mall closed at eight, and if she and Mina cleaned really quickly, she could be walking towards her convertible pink Beetle just in time to see him slide those deliciously long legs into his low-slung red sports car that probably cost more than she made in ten years.

 

“Serena, he ordered his latte without drool,” Mina trilled from the register, and she attempted to focus, once more, on her shitty, horrible, no good, very bad job.

 

Unfortunately, they were not quick in their closing duties, and by the time she made it out to her car, he was long gone. “Don’t forget I traded shifts with Drew tomorrow!” Mina called as she headed for her little blue Honda.

 

At four sharp the next afternoon, Serena was tying on her red apron and smiling cheerfully at Drew, the franchise owner. Since it was a Saturday, she didn’t have much time to feel nervous about working her first shift with ‘the boss’, she barely had enough time to glance at the clock every so often to keep an eye out for 6:02.

 

What she didn’t expect was for Drew to spot him first.

 

“Darien!” Drew called, reaching across the counter to give the other man a ‘manly’ handshake. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

 

Serena couldn’t help but stare; tall, dark, gorgeous, and surly was actually smiling at Drew! Her brightest, most winning smile hadn’t even gotten the guy to look up from his effing cell phone once in the two weeks she’d been working there, and he was smiling at Drew!

 

“Hey, man,” ‘Darien’ said. “We lost a floor manager and two cashiers, so I’ve been pulling double-duty for the past few weeks while I get Nate up to speed. Kael’s still got night classes this term, so I couldn’t ask him to fill in.”

 

“What about Jack and Zane?” Drew asked, and Serena filed away the names like she’d be tested on them the next day.

 

“Zane’s in school full-time and he’s running the store downtown, and Jack is useless for anything but sales, and he knows it,” Darien answered, laughing.

 

Drew turned to pour Mr. Surly’s coffee, and Serena realized that they were completely out of dark roast and winced a little. “Oh, sorry, man, looks like we ran out,” he said. “Wanna stick around while I brew a fresh pot, or did you want something else? From what Mina’s told me, Sere’s pretty good at the mocha lattes.”

 

Serena’s eyebrows rose. She was ‘Sere’ now? And Mr. Surly Darien had a sweet tooth? And since when did Mina have time to compliment her to Drew?

 

“Sere?” he asked, turning that smile to her. “That short for Sarah?”

 

She shook her head. “No, Serena, but you can keep calling me ‘die in a fire’,” she muttered the last bit.

 

Drew looked at her curiously, but Darien laughed. “I’m sorry about that, Serena,” he said. “A mocha latte sounds great, actually. I could use a little sweetness in my life right now. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk. My store’s having some trouble lately, and I’ve been taking it out on you.”

 

“Darien, how many times do I have to tell you to stop abusing my employees?” Drew asked, shaking his head. “I suppose you’re the reason that sweet little Amy quit on me?”

 

“Nah, from what I hear, she got a job over at the bookshop,” he said. “I did scare off that one girl, Raye. She must have asked me out every night for three weeks before she quit.”

 

Both men laughed, and Serena steamed the milk, fuming at the utter arrogance of the jerkwad.

 

“Listen, Sere, it’s been a rough few weeks, it’s Saturday night, and if I know Drew, he’s got absolutely no plans when he gets off,” Darien said, winking at her (just like his perfect buttcheeks, her traitorous mind whispered). “Why don’t the three of us grab some dinner? My treat.”

 

Serena carefully walked his perfectly made mocha latte to the counter and handed it to him with her biggest, most cheerful smile. “Die in a fire,” she said, storming to the back room.

 

When she was out of sight (and earshot) Drew started laughing. “You really need to get out more,” he said. “Your flirting stinks.”

 

 


	11. 051. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 051\. Reflection (Sequel to 065. Deliver)  
> Why’d You Bring a Shotgun to the Party?  
> Words: 2045 (only a bit over double this time, so that’s got to count for something, right?)

Mamoru winced as he stepped into the hazy bar in the Minneapolis airport, frowning at the sheer number of lit cigarettes polluting the confined air.

In the six months since he’d fled from his home and his friends in the wake of their revelations about his sweet, perky UPS driver, he’d taken up several unhealthy coping mechanisms, but cigarettes weren’t one of them.

Unfortunately, alcohol was.

The night after he’d landed in Boston, he’d woken in a cold sweat, haunted by dreams that seemed startlingly real. In all of them, his bubbly little Usa, the destined Queen of the World, had died. Perhaps dreams, plural, was a misnomer; it was the same dream, haunting him every night – Usa, in a flowing white dress, kneeling on marble stairs with horror in her eyes, as a dark-haired man he suspected was himself, or at least a previous incarnation (god, when did his life get so fucking strange?) bled out in her lap. With a piercing cry of his name, she jumped and ran from the battle raging around them (it had taken nearly three weeks before he’d even noticed the battle, so intent was he on her face). It had taken another week complete before he’d followed, gasping as he saw what she plucked from a crystalline monolith in the center of a room made entirely of what appeared to be quartz.

The first time the word had left his lips, he’d woken immediately, and though he was still disturbed, he was grateful that, for once, he’d been spared her death.

“Ginzuishou,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to the bar.

The next night, he’d returned, not to the beginning of the dream, which was relatively pleasant, but to his Usa’s side as she raised the crystal above her head and screamed, her rage and grief echoing in the silent chamber. An explosion rocked the foundations of the castle around them, and she’d dropped to her knees, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

The sounds of screaming filtered into the room, and a voice he’d taken too long to recognize as Makoto’s shouted for Usagi, giving her the strength to run back to the battle.

It took him another two weeks to realize that Makoto wasn’t shouting Usagi’s name, but the name Kunzite had slipped and called her that fateful night: Serenity. And it was a full ten days after that before he noticed that somehow, while he was with Serenity inside the crystal chamber, the moon that he’d never paid attention to, hanging low in the sky, was on literal fire, glowing as brightly as a pale sun. Another five to look at it before the explosion, and gape, stunned, at the Earth.

When he woke that night, he wondered how the actual fuck he’d missed that.

“Because apparently, I’m a thrice-damned idiot this time around,” a drawling voice he recognized all-too-well commented from the corner of his bedroom.

He ignored it to consider what he’d just seen, but he didn’t recall anyone mentioning that Usagi/Serenity had been Princess of the Moon.

“Are you surprised?” The cocky voice mocked him, and he closed his eyes, tightly.

He resisted the urge to glance at the source for as long as he could, but he suspected only seconds passed before he turned his head towards it, and groaned.

Straddling the back of his desk chair, looking supremely arrogant in the armor he’d died in, was the version of him from the dreams.

He added hallucinations to his growing list of reasons he had clearly lost his mind and rolled over, resolutely giving the slightly transparent figure his back and forcing his eyes closed. He did not mutter to himself, ‘it’s not real, not real, not real’, but that was merely by sheer force of will.

After that, the ghost of his past life was there every time he woke.

Eleven weeks into the dreams, he knew he’d dreamt of Usagi/Serenity’s death for the last time. After he’d finally noticed the Earth, he waited alongside his doppelgänger on the stairs when Usagi/Serenity dashed from his presence, long after the man in armor had taken his final breath, and waited, breathlessly counting down the minutes. He closed his eyes when it came; the explosion that had rocked the palace (and indeed, the moon itself) originated on Earth, as almost simultaneously, fiery blasts grew into giant mushroom clouds and covered the face of his home.

In the short time he’d known her, he’d realized fairly quickly that Usagi felt things differently than other people; more deeply, but not just that. Unfortunately, he felt things far less deeply than any one else he’d ever known, so he didn’t have the words to describe how she was different.

“Typical.”

The armored double being a constant presence after his dreams had made it easier for Mamoru to ignore it, and he dropped his head to his updrawn knees.

She’d destroyed the world, his home, in her grief, without a sliver of remorse.

“Yes, yes, blame the emotional teenage girl for everything; it’s not like you’ve questioned your presence in her life at all. It’s not like you’ve listened to the things said around you.”

He ignored it, again, but the next night, he followed the armor-clad one around instead of Usagi. The man was acting highly suspicious, ducking into shadows, trying to seduce the Princess – and then, with a start at something she said, he looked around. He’d noticed, already, that the Princess’ skin was far paler than his, almost pearlescent, and nearly transparent looking, while his alternate self was tanned into rich sienna.

His glance around the ballroom showed that he was the only one not sporting the shimmering, pale skin of the Princess; he was the oddball.

He continued watching; the self-proclaimed Queen Beryl had the same skin he did. Four men, who, without remorse, shoved swords or knives or crystals into the bodies of the women in short skirts they were each fighting – they had skin like his, too.

“Ah, pieced it together, at last then?” his personal peanut gallery called when he woke.

“We didn’t belong there,” he said, his throat rough and voice scratchy. “That wasn’t our world. And our people slaughtered – we brought an army to a ball.”

The next night was the last he dreamed of her death. Unlike the nights before, his dream didn’t stop with the sight of the pretty, petite girl shoving a sword (his sword, the snarky voice from his bedroom whispered when he’d commented on it once) into her chest. This dream continued to the silver-haired woman that had to be Usagi/Serenity’s mother picking up the discarded gemstone and using it to blast the false Queen out of existence, and then collect jewel-toned wisps of smoke into bubbles. As she died upon the sands of the moon, the crystal gave a single burst of pink and silver and white light before impacting with the bodies on the stairs. From his duplicate, a gold mist rose up, allowing itself to be encased into a bubble of iridescent pink, followed immediately by a silver mist coming from Usagi/Serenity, cushioned in another. As the two rose, other wisps rose from the short-skirted girls and the men that had killed them (his friends, his mind whispered, having studied their hate-filled faces several nights in a row).

A long, final burst of brilliant light from the crystal, and the bubbles floated, filled with gold, and silver, and jewel-toned mist, in its wake, as it impacted the Earth. The fires extinguished, and the unnatural smog covering the entire planet seemed to clear at once. Mountains had sprung up where there had not been mountains before, and craters grooved the world in new patterns, but the world slowly covered itself in green; Mamoru suspected the bubbles were floating over the course of decades, not hours, but it seemed like no time had passed at all, like the world below them was simply moving on fast forward.

“Excuse you,” a snippy, American voice said in heavily accented Southern English, and he frowned, drawing his attention back to airport bar where a buxom blonde in a low-cut tank top and a pierced eyebrow looked at him expectantly.

“Right, sorry,” he said, making sure to speak English or risk upsetting her even more. He ordered and received a bottle of red wine in rapid succession, probably helped along by the large amount of cash in his hand. His eyes darted around for a table, raising a brow when he noticed his twin sitting alone in a corner, waving his arm languidly. Mamoru stared at the patrons – how could they not see him?

“Can anyone else see you?” he demanded as he dropped his bottle on the table. He wanted to pour it in a glass, but he’d dropped that on the way over.

“No one can see this table or you if I don’t want them to,” the other-him said arrogantly.

Taking him at his word, he pulled the pre-popped cork from the mouth of the bottle and took a long swig, ignoring the scowl on the face of his past-self.

“You disgust me, Chiba Mamoru,” he said conversationally, as if it were an inane comment about the weather.

“Yes, well, you’re the reason we are who we are, aren’t you?” Mamoru shrugged. “Seems to me it’s your fault I disgust you.”

He’d woken up from a new dream six months to the day after fleeing Japan to breaking news stories about terror in Tokyo. A variety of battles between five girls in short skirts and various hideous and deadly monsters flashed across the screen, and he’d known then that he had to stop running. He’d booked a flight home and started drinking immediately, washing the sour taste of bile from his mouth with every sip. The latest round of nightmares had been a doozy, all involving him in his former life’s armor, torturing one of the short-skirted girls (he refused to give her a name, that would be tantamount to admitting that he’d hurt the best thing that had ever come into his life, and he couldn’t do it), while the red-haired Beryl watched with a sick sort of pleasure. He’d disgusted himself when he’d realized one night that the look on her face as he’d electrocuted the girl was the same one she made when she reached orgasm, and he’d liked it.

If this series of dreams followed the same pattern as the others, he knew he wouldn’t be able to see the happy ending that they’d all had thus far until he’d not only acknowledged and accepted every aspect of the dream, but remembered it, too. Not remembered, in the sense that the details of the dream were clear, but actually pulled what he knew were memories of the event itself from the depths of his brain.

His stomach turned at finding the memories of how he’d known that look.

“I’m not only an idiot, I’m a coward,” his past self muttered.

Mamoru didn’t disagree. He could continue finding ways to refer to the man that was haunting him, but the simple fact was that he knew, somehow, that acknowledging the man’s true name would release a flood of memories he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

The bottle was empty, and he was too drunk to bother getting up for another.

“What will you do when you get there?” HE asked, and Mamoru shrugged. It had been impossible, after a certain length of time, to pretend he didn’t see the apparition, and even more to prevent himself from responding.

After all, how does one ignore oneself?

In the end, it didn’t matter, not really. The memories were going to return, and he understood, truly, why Usagi and the others had hidden it from him; his past life, his current life, it didn’t matter; the outcome was always the same: blood and death and pain and tears and the screams of the beautiful blonde he’d fallen in love with in his ears.

His life was a farce, he was a joke, and he hated every bit of it.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, stepping away from the hidden table and heading towards the bar for another bottle.


End file.
